Adlock prompt: Sherlock realizing his absolute, true feelings for Irene during his plane ride back home from Karachi.
When the plane took off, Irene’s last words from that morning were still around Sherlock’s mind: “I’ll be fine, I promise.” Then she had run her fingers across his face. She had looked sad whilst speaking, as if she wasn’t quite sure of her own words. Sherlock wished she was right.
Sherlock’s memories flew a little earlier, the night before in a hotel room, when he couldn’t sleep because he was nervous about Irene’s future. By his side, Irene slept soundly, still recovering from her tough days as hostage. She had rolled closer to Sherlock, then she put her arm around Sherlock’s waist and her head on his chest. Unconsciously, Sherlock stroked her hair. The touch of her skin calmed him.
Back in the plane, Sherlock opened his eyes when the air hostess offered him a drink. He answered sharply to the young woman, who apologised and served the passenger next to Sherlock a glass of water. When the hostess left them, Sherlock closed his eyes and went back to the room of his mind palace where he kept Irene’s memories.
He was with Irene in a hotel room again. This time Irene was awake, she was kissing Sherlock, seated naked on his lap. “How was the dinner, darling?” She asked between kisses. Sherlock only smiled.
The scene changed again. They were alone in a car. Irene embraced him strongly while crying in relief. “I’m alive” she repeated. Sherlock didn’t speak because he was afraid of saying something he could regret, but he was as relieved as Irene, if not more. Yes, she was alive, he could feel her rushed heartbeats, her heavy breathing, the salty taste of tears on her lips, her warm body against his own.
Suddenly, Sherlock opened his eyes in the plane. “Excuse me, are you alright? You look nervous” asked the man next to him. “Yes. I thought I had forgotten something, that’s all” answered Sherlock. The reason why he was nervous was actually that he had just realised his true feelings about Irene. By analysing his own behaviour, Sherlock had understood how important was Irene to him: the moment when he had seen her alive and safe between his arms had been the happiest in his whole life, but his joy was nearly as deep as the fear of losing her again; he had already experienced that once and he thought that it was enough. If only he could protect her always…
Sherlock had accepted his desire for Irene a long time before. He thought that what he felt was simply desire and admiration, however he was mistaken. It was too difficult to understand his feelings when he thought he was unable to love someone or that he could control his heart the same way he did with his mind. That was his mistake: forgetting that he still had a heart.
Hi, You write the most impeccable fanfic. Really, you do. Just have a tiny question though, how many chapters of the W Hypothesis are on AO3? I keep feeling that isn't not all you've written. But I don't know. Additionally, the gif sets are WOW.
Oh my gawd! Thank you so much!! :’) It really means a lot to me that you like it. Officially there’s only 5 (1 prologue, 4 chapters), but I write in a really strange way that I will write different parts of the plot randomly, so sometimes I’ll post in the adlock tag a snippet or two of something happening in the future. But chapter 5 is coming soon! I promise. :)
How many times have they tangoed around words and sentiment, stealing glances and kisses? Waltzing across the thin line of apathy and empathy. Flashes of warmth in the frozen night. Eventually, Sherlock knew, one of them would fall.
Maybe this time, the dance was too hard to keep up.
Write Irene making Sherlock apologize to Mrs. Hudson
"Sherlock! Sherlock, leave that violin and open the door, please!" Mrs Hudson yelled "I bring you some things you needed!"
Suddenly, there was silence in the flat and Sherlock opened the door angrily, with the violin still in his hand. ”What do you want? I hope it’s important, because you interrupted me while I was thinking”
"Always the same, Sherlock. When are you going to learn to be more tolerant? I honestly don’t know how John put up with you when he lived here…"
"Mrs Hudson…" Sherlock rolled his eyes and faked an affected voice "Please, I’m busy, could you tell me why are you here?"
"I noticed you needed some things and I bought them for you this morning" she handed a bag to him. Sherlock murmured "thank you" and gave her a look that clearly invited her to leave as soon as possible. However, Mrs Hudson, always looking for Sherlock’s well-being, looked around the flat as she walked to the door to see if everything was alright. Nothing was in its place (as always), but something called Mrs Hudson attention: there was a pair of black stilettos under the table. "Why do you have a pair of woman shoes under the table?"
Sherlock turned quickly to where Mrs Hudson was pointing. “Those are… mmm… an experiment.”
"Yes… an experiment…" an amused smile grew on the landlady’s face. "That coat that smells like perfume is also part of the experiment? Sherlock, honey, don’t worry: you’re a grown up man, there’s nothing wrong with bringing a woman to your bed."
"Okay. That’s been enough gossiping for today." Sherlock pushed Mrs Hudson out of the flat. "We all have things to hide, isn’t it? Like a past as a drug dealer’s wife, for example."
"Said the man who sleeps with an outlaw dominatrix. Please, let her come in again, don’t be so rude." Sherlock turned around to see Irene leaning on the hallway door with her arms crossed and a condescending smile on her face. Then she walked toward Mrs Hudson, who looked at both of them alternatively. "Good morning, Mrs Hudson. I’m Irene Adler, Sherlock’s new… partner."
"Wait, aren’t you the woman who sent him messages with that moaning ringtone?"
Irene laughed. “That was me. Now I don’t need to send him messages…”
"Irene, please…" Sherlock clenched his teeth.
"Sherlock please…" Irene gave a genuinely angry gaze at him. "She cares for you even when she shouldn’t, and that’s how you thank her? Treating her like a bug that is disturbing you? And you dare to use her past as an insult when you are hiding your fugitive lover in your own home."
Irene’s words made Sherlock think for a second; she was right, he was a hypocrite. He took a deep breath and nodded. ”I’m sorry, Mrs Hudson. I won’t do that again. I wanted to protect Irene, I didn’t want anyone to know she was here, but maybe it’s good that you know about her.”
"Don’t worry about that, your secret is safe with me." Mrs Hudson smiled motherly and leaned to whisper in Sherlock’s ear. "I think she’s good for you, she’s beautiful and smart. Don’t be silly, keep her. And you," she said louder to Irene "I hope you can tame him."
Irene winked at Mrs Hudson and run her hand down Sherlock’s arm. “He’s such a good boy when he wants. I’ll make him be good always.”
Two strangers walked among a crowd of people in a cloudy afternoon. They aren’t different from other people, no one looks at them twice, no one knows who they are or where they are from.
"Isn’t it nice when we are in a place where anybody knows us?" asked the woman, "where they don’t look at us because we are just a man and a woman having a walk. We aren’t Sherlock Holmes, the great detective who committed suicide, nor Irene Adler, the dominatrix who sold her nation for power. We can be normal people doing normal things."
"I like it sometimes,I guess" Sherlock shrugged. "But you know I don’t like normal things very much, they are boring.” He put a special emphasis when he said normal.
"Take it like we are on vacation. We don’t know when we’ll have to run away from here, or when we’ll find a macabre crime to solve… Plus, we can have time together." Subtly, she put her hand inside Sherlock’s pocket and held his hand. He grinned briefly.
They arrived to a huge old building. Irene stopped and gestured to Sherlock, suggesting him to enter. He didn’t seem very convinced “An art museum?” he asked.
"Remember, we are normal tourists doing normal things. Also, I like art and I’ve always wanted to visit this museum. Next time we’ll go to a science museum, I promise."
Sherlock gave in reluctantly and walked behind Irene. There were some guides who explained the paintings to the groups of visitors, but Irene decided that she wanted to see the artworks by herself. She stopped before the paintings, sometimes she tilted her head or stepped back or forward,or looked at the painting from different angles.
"You look at them the same way I look at corpses." Sherlock whispered, earning an angry look from Irene. "I’m not comparing art to murder, of course, I’m just saying that…"
"What do you hear when you listen to a complex melody?" Irene inquired. "Do you hear every note? Can you recognise the composer of a certain melody only by listening to it even if it’s the first time, because you know their technique? Do you feel what the composer wants you to feel and you know how they achieve that?" Sherlock nodded at all her questions. "Then try to do the same with this painting: every brushstroke is important, like the notes of a melody; if you changed only one of the, the melody would sound completely different. Now look at the lighting, the gestures of the characters… They are telling you a story, but if you don’t pay attention, you’ll never hear them."
Irene started to explain every painting to Sherlock, who listened to Irene attentively; he could feel the passion in her eyes and voice. “I didn’t know you liked art so much” he said when they walked out of the museum.
"Well… when I was a younger my parents sent me to painting classes." she laughed "I’ve never been a good painter, but I still like art."
"You are the best art teacher I’ve ever had." Sherlock said. "Actually, you are the only one. And, therefore, you are the best."
…Irene twirls a piece of dried chrysanthemum between her fingers, bringing it up to her nose for a speculative sniff.
A British woman with a taste for oriental flower tea - there are layers to her that baffles him still. Sherlock wonders how much of what he knows about her, “details” of her past that she had shared, is actually true.
She glances up at him, a wiry sort of half-expression flickering undecidedly on her face. He knows she must have deduced his thoughts.
Sherlock frowns, wordless, waiting for her elaborate. He’d never ask her to stop lying to him, quite frankly because he had never stopped lying to her either. Besides, hadn’t “not knowing” been what drew him to her in the first place? Figuring out the puzzle, solving her, winning the game - he loved it, hadn’t he?
Perhaps, he considers, beneath that layer of enjoyment there’s always been a discomfort waiting to emerge. It would have sat there forever, buried under the thrill, had he treated her like a case - brilliant, magnificent case. Instead, he’d chosen to take her wrist and feel her pulse, to kiss her lips and her neck and her thighs and…
He had let sentiment slip in. It swelled and swelled within the crevices of his mind and within her belly, until it became too difficult to hide anything, and that discomfort which would’ve been meaningless, rose to the surface.
Irene hands her bag of chrysanthemum to young Chinese woman to be weighed. “Honesty, much like a lot of things, is irrelevant for people like us.”
And that, thinks Sherlock, is exactly the problem. He may not concern himself with trivia, but the fact of the matter is, nothing is irrelevant to him which pertains to Irene Adler.
Here’s a little one shot (but there possibly could be a second part with a happier ending?) I wrote. It’s my first attempt at an OQ fanfic. This one is completely au but I hope you all enjoy it. Let me know if you do!
Summary: She was young and stupid, believing that getting married guaranteed a happily ever after. Now she’s a successful business woman and one of the few joys in her life is her daughter Liam who is finally coming home from camp aboard the flight that just came in. Her butler Robin has already gotten Liam’s luggage and she’s desperately excited to see her daughter. She’s going to bring her over to her grandparents’ because they’ve been wanting to see her.
He was young and in love, hoping that he could build a family with his new wife. She left him, claiming that she couldn’t trust him, and now he’s a lonely, successful businessman. The only one he has left is his daughter Leia, named for his lost princess, who is now arriving back from camp. In the intervening months of Leia’s absence however, he’s grown close to a surprisingly forthright woman. He knows that his housekeeper Regina disapproves but he’s thinking of asking Zelena to marry him.
Robin smiled into the rear view mirror at Liam Swan. He was dropping her off at Camp storybook for the summer. Liam was not exactly pleased. She stared out the window at the mess of girls arriving in normal town cars and not chauffeured limousines “You know she’d be here if she could,” Robin told Liam catching her attention.
“But she’s busy,” Liam grumbled. “I’m not going to see her for three whole months, Hood and she can only just manage a quick goodbye before she flies off to Paris for a client.”
Robin got out of the car and opened Liam’s door, she accepts his hand and steps out of the car into the June sun. “Now how could your Mom afford to feed you or clothe you or hire me if she didn’t meet clients? It’s her job little bandit. Now put on a smile for your old butler and grab your pack.”
Liam sighed and smiled. Robin always made her feel better, Liam ducked back into the limo and threw her pack over her shoulders. “Three whole months Hood! What’s a girl to do without her loyal and trusty butler for three whole months?” Robin chuckled and ruffled her dark brownish/black hair.
I’ll miss you, too,” Robin informed her and Liam engulfed him in a hug. Her arms wrapping firmly around his waist, she barely reached above his belly button. Liam pulled away and Robin bent down to perform their signature handshake. Their fists bumped, hips tapped, a twirl, and a handshake.
“Goodbye Hood,” Liam released his hand and her emerald eyes twinkled.
“Goodbye Ms. Swan,” Robin bowed with a wink and got back into the limo, driving off. Liam turned around to face the camp and sighed. Three whole months.
Robin’s shoulders look tense to Regina today, his eyes worried. She shoots him a concerned glance as they pass each other in the hall, he on his way to Herbology, and she on her way to the library, where they dare not meet after the time last month when the eagle-eyed librarian had nearly outed them to the student body for having no possible reason to be working together. More than that look, she does not venture to try.
Before supper, she finds her way to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Robin waits for her just past where the trees break onto the grounds, tears shining in his eyes, and he drags her to him immediately, buries his face in her hair with a shaky breath.
“Robin?” she asks. Somehow, they both knew to come here, their secret spot.
He shakes his head into her neck, not ready to talk just yet. She yanks the tied ribbon of her emerald cloak and lets it fall to the ground, threads fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, and waits, listens to their breathing.
"Is it about keeping us secret, because I know you hate how—“
He shakes his head, still buried in the hollow between her neck and shoulder.
“Then what is—?”
“It’s my father’s birthday, today,” he confesses, a murmur.
She pulls back to look at him at that.
"Well," he amends, leaning his forehead on hers, unwilling to break the contact, "it would have been my father’s birthday.”
She knows his father died long ago, but he’s never, in their nearly eleven months together, shared the circumstances.
She spends most of her night staring out her windshield as she puzzles over the last text she’d received from Killian, waiting for her skip to magically appear, but the damn man is better at hiding than she’s used to, and she leaves his girlfriend’s apartment sometime around midnight, annoyed and uncomfortable.
When she walks through the door the place is a disaster, and Robin and David looked flustered and nervous, dashing about from room to room with no real sense of purpose, or at least, that’s what it looks like to Emma.
It takes her yelling at them to slow them down, and they both turn to look at her, guilty and flustered.
“What the hell is going on?”
They both glare at each other in silence for a moment, so Emma takes a moment to look around the living room and notice the trail of chaos had originated from the general direction of Killian’s room, which they’d spitefully converted into an “activities” room two hours after his flight had landed in London.
I am deeply unsatisfied with the way this chapter turned out (I can’t get over being depressing, apparently), which is half the reason it took me forever to write, but you guys have been patient and seriously I love you all for being persistent in your love for this fic. Thank you for all your kind words and your nudges to get me working on it.
Although Emma really did adore Mary Margaret and all her little quirks, there were a few things Emma had to roll her eyes at when it came to her best friend, and her obsession with astrology was one of them. There were only so many star charts and mercury’s in retrograde she could stomach, but that never stopped Mary Margaret from texting her at three in the morning to tell her her horoscope meant great things for the month ahead.
She’d given up all hope the day her friend had told her she’d meet her soul mate within the next year, only to bump into Neal on a stakeout two days later, entering her into a six month stint of whirlwind romance that had ended with a knock on her door and a warrant in her face.
Regina seems to find it amusingly silly as Mary Margaret lays out the tarot cards on the table, sipping her glass of merlot with a raised eyebrow. Girls Night has been a long time in the making, and Emma is surprised to realize she’s actually enjoying the whole thing, the three of them gossiping like schoolgirls and laughing over the men in their lives.
"I know you both think its silly," Mary Margaret is saying. "But even if its all just coincidence I think its fun."
"Its not entirely without its merits," Regina says, to Emma’s immense shock, as she swirls the wine in her glass.
So this is a continuation of my New Girl AU, and OMG you guys are going to hate me so much I’m sorry. But I’ve spent the past two days writing TWD fic and seriously this is the closest I could get to fluffy. I promise this story is not going to continue to be such an emotional whirlwind.
Yeah no actually I don’t promise that because who knows? But I will at least try?
Also I kind of want to apologize for what I did to Milah here. I really really do love Milah on the show, and I think they had a beautiful tragic romance but for the purposes of this story she’s not really anyone’s favorite person.
Emma doesn’t know much about Milah other than the way Robin and David say her name, spitting it out like a curse when conversations sometimes roll around to past loves, and Emma gets the feeling that if she ever breathed a word about Neal to them they’d use his name the same way. Killian tends to get overly defensive, and she’s seen the way he closes off even as he tells her that Milah is hardly as bad as his friends make her out to be, but whatever happened between them, it hadn’t ended well.
She seems nice enough. She’s been friendly and nice since Halloween, despite Robin’s refusal to speak more than one word at a time to her and David’s bordering-on-rude interactions with her (Emma can’t imagine David ever actually being rude, but there’s something about the way he smiles at her that makes Emma feel like he’d make a great bail bondsman.)
It’s weird to see her wandering the halls of the apartment in sweats and one of Killian’s old college tees, something she must have dug from the depths of his horde of clothes, because Emma’s never seen them before, but she always has a friendly smile and an interested tilt to her head during their conversations, like she’s really paying close attention. Killian, though more distant with his roommate than Emma has ever seen before…seems…happy. Content, maybe. Quieter, easier. Despite all that, Emma is always finding reasons not to like her.
So… I wrote a roommates fic? This is blatantly New Girl oriented, but the boys aren’t really meant to be exactly Schmidt, Winston, Coach or Nick. I’ve got about fifty short little snippets of this thing already because holy hell the hijinks that could happen with these guys.
Who’s That Girl?
The loft is nice, cluttered with mismatched furniture, red brick walls and large windows, it’s all very…nice.
This is the twelfth apartment she’s looked at today, and it’s getting a little ridiculous, if she’s being honest with herself. She’s practically Goldilocks right now - too small, too big, too smelly, too many cats, not enough light; she’s run the gamut of things that she doesn’t like and it doesn’t help that she is really, really not a huge fan of people right now.
The man who’d introduced himself as David is giving her a little tour, sweeping his arms out as he shows her the main room, and she gets a good look down the hallway at the closed doors lining it, a random assortment of things piled just to the left of the corridor - a guitar case, a pair of skis, a - is that a bow?
Emma quirks her brow as she follows him through to the living room, and he waves vaguely toward the kitchen (it’s a really nice kitchen) as he pats at a seat across from him on the couch. “Sorry, the rest of the roommates should have been here by now.”
“No, it’s fine.”
He gives her kind of an awkward smile, his Ken doll hair flopping as he tilts his head, his arms coming out again in a grand gesture as he waves them about. “Do you have any questions for me?”
She’s halfway through grilling him on the building security, and more than halfway convinced that this is the place, this is where she wants to live, when the front door swings open on it’s frame and raised voices drift through. Emma turns her head to look at them even as David lets out an annoyed groan.
Regina and Roland trying to make cupcakes for Robin and Henry (ignore the end of s3 or put it way ahead in time :P)
Hey B! It was really exciting to finding your prompt in here as I rarely ever get Outlaw Queen prompts anymore!! outlawqueener <3 So I know I tend to ramble but we know what you want ;) so here we go! (Also excuse any mistakes I’m forgoing to edit)
"What’s next?" Roland asked, pulling a chair from the dinning room over to the counter, so that he could fully reach the cookbook perched on the counter. He rested his face in his hands as he tried to read; leaving a handprint of flour on each of his cheeks.
"Well that’s all the dry ingredients, so you add the wet ones next. Think you could handle cracking eggs?" She asked, leaning down and pushing the bowl towards him. He nodded enthusiastically, his whole body seeming to shake from the effort of containing himself.
She smiled and leaned against the counter. The egg barely fit in his hand, and he looked between it and the bowl before his gaze returned to the eggs once more. His forehead wrinkled, much like his father, as he tried to think.
"Would you like some help?" She asked with a small laugh as she moved over to him. He nodded up at her, handing over the egg and watching intently as she cracked it and the yolk dropped into the bowl. He snatched the next one from the cartoon and carefully cracked it, frowning when he noticed part of the shell dropping into the liquids.
"Will that mess it up?" He asked looking up at Regina as she grabbed the bowl. She reassured him, telling him it was nothing to worry about. As soon as his nose was back in the recipe, she used a fork and fished out the piece of shell.
"Want to add it to the mixer for me?" Regina called over to him, watching as his head snapped up in her direction. He jumped down running over to her. She lifted him, holding him at her hip as he dumped them into the mixing bowl. She sat him down before adding in the milk and vanilla extract.
She handed him the cupcake liners and the tin pan, watching as he meticulously placed each one, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as his forehead once again wrinkled with his concentration. She shook her head with a smile, and moved the bowl from the mixer, making her way back over to him.
She greased the tin before handing him a half cup measurement to pour the batter. As soon as he was done she moved them to the oven, Roland scampered off like lightening, disappearing up the stairs. Regina chuckled as she began the process that was cleaning up the baking aftermath.
As soon as she moved the last spatula into the dishwasher, the oven beeped. The sound was followed by thumping, and then the patter of Roland’s feet as he clambered down the stairs. She pulled them out, and warned Roland that they were hot; that it would take a few minutes for them to cool off enough to ice.
"But you could mix colors while you wait," She told him getting out the icing and food coloring, before taking her place at the table once more. She pulled Roland into her lap.
"Do you know what color you want?" She asked as she pulled the small vials of coloring out of the packaging.
"Green!" He called out reaching for the blue and yellow- something he had learned made green over the past few days in school. Regina smiled and nodded reaffirming that he was indeed correct. She cringed slightly as she watched him add drop after drop of the dye, turning the previously pristine white icing to an army green shade.
With the cupcakes all iced, they moved them to their container. Regina handed it down to Roland, warning him to be careful not to shake them too much and mess them up. He nodded before taking off. Regina laughed again, knowing that they were sure to be a mess when they finally got to the archery range.
Roland was out of the car before she could blink as the pulled into the gravel lot near the woods.
She arrived to the range about two minutes after them, her three boys all tucked into a cake, green icing temporarily changing the color of their lips, tongue and teeth.
Robin stood moving to kiss her in greeting, his lips tasting sweeter than normal. Regina smiled, curling into the arm that wrapped around her waist. He lead her over to the picnic bench they were all siting at.
"What’s the occasion?" He asked as he passed the container off to the rest of his Merry Men.
"This one decided today was the perfect day for surprising our favorite archers with a sweet surprise," Regina told him as she ruffled Roland’s hair sweetly. She hugged Henry into her side laughing as he reached for a second. She was still getting used to this new phase of eating he was going through- no matter how much they fed him, he was always hungry.
"These are so good," He told both his mother and Roland as he tucked into his new one, his eyes closing unconsciously. Regina shook her head with a laugh.
"Next week can we make cookies?" Roland asked sweetly as he leaned into Regina’s side.
"Yes!" Henry answered for her, leaning around to give Roland a high-five. Regina laughed and told him they’d have to wait and see. Robin smiled, moving his hand to hold hers across the table. This is exactly where she wanted to be.
Many thanks to ninzied for her invaluable help on this.
“That Locksley boy is staring at you again, sis,” Zelena says haughtily. She throws red curls behind her shoulders, smooths her green vest, and cuts daintily into the eggs and kippers on her plate, glancing down the Slytherin table and across the nearly empty Great Hall to the much rowdier Gryffindors.
Regina swallows her pumpkin juice carefully, turns the spoon in her porridge. “Is he?” she remarks, her voice disinterested, “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Well, make sure you embarrass him as thoroughly in potions today as you did last week,” Evelyn chuckles darkly, shooting Zelena a grin. She has always had an ugly laugh, Regina thinks, and an ugly grin.
“That hasn’t been a problem yet,” Regina notes.
“It’s horrid, isn’t it, Regina, that Mudbloods like him can sneak their way into this place and steal what is rightfully ours.”
“Yes, horrid,” Evelyn answers for her, giggling. Zelena sends her sister a disappointed look, but lets it go.
Their mother had sent her second daughter to school with a sinister and smiling threat on her life if she were to be sorted into any house but Slytherin, and the sorting hat had known, had made the choice for her safety, but Regina is not meant for this, she has never wanted this.
“I left an assignment in my room,” Regina says suddenly, standing.
“Oh, do forget about it, dear.”
“It’s for Professor Aurum,” she says quickly, their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who has been known to cackle openly at students who attempt to turn in assignments late before taking away some absurd number of house points and placing them in week’s worth of detention. Zelena follows her sister’s gaze towards the Gryffindor table curiously.
“He’s in that class as well,” she says by way of explanation, “I’ve just remembered, he sits just behind me, and I wouldn’t want him to think—“
“Ah, yes, very well!” Zelena remarks, amused. “You must retrieve it then, of course.”
Regina nods, and forces herself to walk away calmly, her head held high, staring at nothing.
Author’s Note: I promised a ficlet of their choosing to those who did fan art for Baker’s Dozen, and whasupwhereitis requested the first time Robin sees Regina. (You can check out her awesome artwork of Robin and Regina while he grades his blue books here). So here ya go.
Robin Locksley is not, by nature, a morning person. There was a time, years ago, when he was still married, that he would have been up with the sun - or up with the son, rather, as Roland has never been a late sleeper. He takes after his mother that way. But years of living without a child, of teaching 11:30 classes - or even better, 2:30 classes - have left him lazy. What temporary insanity led to him agreeing to teach not one, but two early morning courses this semester, he will never know.